Vriska: 8r8k
by sarcasticReckoning
Summary: Your name is VRISKA SERKET, and you can feel your very being, your sanity, splintering away. AU, one-shot. T for hinted gore, drug mentions, and foul language.


**I don't own Homestuck. **

**I see a lot of myself in Vriska. Maybe that's why I hate her so much.**

* * *

You're sick and tired of being judged by other people.

You're sick and tired of being judged by other people simply because you've done some things in the past.

You're sick and tired of... no.

You're sick and tired of not being able to die.

* * *

_AG: Arrivederci, Megido._

* * *

You killed her.

Why did you kill her?

She's dead. Why?

You killed her.

You had no motive, really.

Other than - well.

The ghosts still haven't gone away. They swirl around you. Mocking, laughing whispers.

The chill floods your body, and with a shiver, you wrap your arms around yourself.

Killing her didn't make the problem any better.

Just made you feel like shit.

* * *

_AG: Do you want to flyyyyyyyy, Tavros?_

_AG: Have you ever tried to fly? I 8et you haven't!_

_AG: How a8out we take to the skies, Pupa!_

_AG: Hahahaha, oh you like that idea, Pupa? Yes, you do. I can feel it in your simple, mallea8le 8rain._

_AG: You want to fly so 8ad!_

* * *

You don't even know why you did it.

What could your possible motive be for paralyzing a troll that was not only innocent, but happened to be your friend?

It wasn't even with the intent of feeding your lusus.

You did it anyway.

Of course you regret it. You regret it _so much._

Most of all you regret ever having feelings. It would probably have been better to be culled.

You fell in such deep pity you couldn't even see the hole.

Which, of course, is why you had to do it.

You had to kill him.

* * *

_AG: May8e I sh8uld just rip my he8rt out of my chest and pound it to a 8loody pulp here on my desk with my sup8r strong ro8ot arm. _

_AG: Pound pound pound pound pound pound pound pound! _

_AG: Look at that, more nasty 8lue 8lood all over me. Why not! Might as well op8n the floodg8s and p8nt my whole hive with this oh so envia8le cerulean SWILL. _

_AG: 8ecause clearly it's up to me to feel em8tions for the 8oth of us, you misera8le soulless witch! _

* * *

You're the spiderbitch. That's you.

Your job to be apathetic when killing. Gleeful, even.

Your job to hate yourself so much you can't even cry in the privacy of your own respiteblock.

Your job to want to kill yourself so, so badly.

But you can't. You're _blessed_ with the _fortune_ of being god tier.

Immortality, unless the fucking stupid god tier clock deems your death to be "Just" or whatever it is.

You don't think suicide is going to qualify as "Just."

But you try anyway.

You try and you try, in the safety of your room on the meteor, in the fucking stupid veil, with it's fucking walls and the fucking trolls in it.

You try, time and time again, to kill yourself, and time and time again the fucking god tier clock resurrects you.

You've tried everything. Drowning yourself in sopor, hanging yourself from the ceiling, slitting your wrists, and the tried-and-true method of stabbing yourself. The floor and walls of your respiteblock are covered in cerulean.

You're about to try again, making it 89 times you've tried to commit suicide, but your oh-so-kind leader comes to tell you to fucking stop whatever the fuck you're doing because the light you're giving off is really fucking annoying.

It's so ironic, how someone interfered after the 88th time you resurrected.

* * *

_CG: AND YOU THINK YOU'RE HATING UP EVERYONE HARD WHEN YOU'RE REALLY JUST BURNING OUT THAT ENTIRE EMOTIONAL HEMISPHERE. _

_CG: IT'S LIKE LUKEWARM HATE. PRETENDER'S HATE, WITH NO COUNTERPOINT AT ALL. _

_CG: AS SUCH THERE'S NO REAL SUBSTANCE TO YOUR HATE, IT'S LIKE A CARDBOARD MOVIE PROP. _

_CG: WHICH IS WHY YOUR BRAIN IS BROKEN, KIND OF LIKE TAVROS'S BUT ON THE OPPOSITE HEMISPHERE I GUESS. _

_CG: OR MAYBE YOUR BROKEN BRAIN LED TO THE IMBALANCE IN THE FIRST PLACE, I DON'T KNOW. _

_CG: WHATEVER THE CASE IS, YOU'RE KIND OF EMOTIONALLY SCREWED, SORRY TO SAY. _

* * *

You know you're a bitch. Embrace it, even.

You hate that word, by the way.

It's so derogatory you want to spit every time somebody calls you a bitch.

And then at the same time you want to hug them.

Nobody gets you. Nobody ever did.

You've never had friends. Not really. You just kind of deluded yourself into thinking you did, for a little while back.

Why'd you have to screw it up?

You know why. You were living some deluded, soporific fantasy.

You don't deserve happiness.

* * *

_t1CK t0ck _**_8r8k _**_**H34DS** __honk __HONK_

* * *

_10_

You think you're snapping. Slowly. Slowly.

Bits of your very being begin to splinter. Little by little.

_9_

You're going batshit. You can see it now.

You'll be a living nightmare. And there's nothing you can do to stop it.

_8_

You have no friends. Only allies.

And they won't be that way for long.

_7_

The soul - stick, if you will - continues to splinter, day after day.

Your allies have no idea what they're doing, do they?

_6_

You await the downfall of what was once the most powerful troll on the planet.

You sit in your room. You wait.

_5_

It takes soporifics and alcohol to keep the splintering under control.

Your quirk changes, but nobody notices.

_4_

You've stopped caring about your personal hygiene.

Nobody cares about that, either, until Karkat tells you that 'YOU LOOK LIKE A HUGE FUCKING MESS.'

_3_

It's only a matter of time, now.

Before the drugs cease to work and you snap.

_2_

You're nearly at your breaking point.

_1_

You say your final goodbyes to the world, as Vriska Serket.

Soon you'll leave. You're already gone.

_Vriska: 8r8k._

* * *

You're not sure what happened after that, only that you wake, Karkat looming over you.

You look down at your hands, stained with purple and teal and red and cerulean. You look around you, seeing the sleeping forms of your allies - your friends.

Instantly, you know, your eyes turning white to match his.

You're all dead.

"I'm sorry," You whimper, curling into a ball.

Karkat's expression isn't angry, like you thought it was. It's just sad.

"Me, too," he whispers, quiet for once.

You cry together, sobs echoing into the night.


End file.
